Page 62 of Letters of Faith
“Enjoy it while it lasts because you and me—” she says, wagging her finger between the two of us, “we aren’t so different, and despite how blind you are, little Miss Perfect over there won’t stick around for someone like us.”
Harper knew exactly where she was throwing to get that barb to stick. It hits me right where she intended because she’s not wrong. I’ve known it since I met Georgia. It’s not that I think she will walk away, but someday she might see through to the guy underneath, the one the rest of the town sees. When she does, I can’t expect her to stay because that guy has never been good enough for anyone else to stay. That thought doesn’t make me bitter, though. I’ll selfishly soak up all the time she’ll give me, and when she’s done, I’ll let her walk away and cheer her on from the sidelines, even though it will kill me.
Harper doesn’t bother sticking around for my response. She knows she won’t get one.
Georgia finishes talking to Ellie and her parents, and when she comes back to me, her smile is so bright it sends a pang to my chest. I would let her ruin me as long as I could see that smile on her face every day.
Chapter 27
Georgia
After church, Grayson and I came back to his house to fix lunch. We kept it simple with sandwiches and soup, taking them to his living room and snuggling up on the couch to eat.
“Want to watch a movie?” Grayson asks, handing me the remote.
“Absolutely,” I say, clicking through the movies.
Grayson finishes his food as I scroll through the options. He stands to take his plate to the kitchen, and I call, “Will you grab me a water while you’re in there?”
“Of course.”
He returns and stands behind the couch. I tilt my head back on the couch to look up at him. He bends to place a kiss on my forehead and drops the water on my lap. I close my eyes at the feel of his beard scraping against my skin. Out of all the ways he’s cared for me, this simple act feels the most domestic. I wait for the guilt and fear to crash into my stomach with the realization, but it doesn’t. Instead, contentment settles in my veins, thrumming through my whole body.
Grayson walks around to the front of the couch and sits beside me again. Lifting my head, I flip through the channels again, searching for something to watch.
“How did you feel about church today?” Grayson asks, tracingpatterns on my arm with his fingertips.
“I feel like I should be asking you that. You weren’t exactly ecstatic to go.”
“Honestly,” he says, his fingers stilling. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was kind of nice to see Mrs. Adams put people in their place. That woman is a terror when she wants to be.”
I let out a gentle laugh because it’s true, but I love her for making Grayson feel seen.
“What did you think about the message?” I ask.
His hand leaves my arm, and he squirms in his seat.
“I think that I wasn’t asking for patience—my whole life has been a lesson in that,” he mutters.
Smacking him on the chest, I shake my head.
“Come on, seriously, what did you think?”
“I guess—that I would say before today, I didn’t feel worthy of a whole lot, and if I’m honest, I don’t think one church service can change that, but I will say that I’m starting to feel like I can be more than my mistakes.”
“Oh, Gray,” I say, laying my head on his shoulder. “You’ve always been worthy. There’s never been a question of that. Those mistakes are not the sum of who you are. You are so much more.”
He rests his chin on my head. From his silence, I can tell he doesn’t believe me, so I wrap my arms around him, praying he feels at least an ounce of his worth through my arms.
“Do you remember the night that the gazebo in the town square burnt down?” he asks, his voice contemplative.
“Yes.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I don’t think I will like it.
“It was me.” His answer is whispered into my hair, but I still hear him.
A gasp slips past my lips before I can’t stop it, and I jerk back,knocking his chin against the top of my head.
“Grayson,” I chide, rubbing at the spot on my head where his chin hit.
